A Long Walk to Farewell
by Palatyne
Summary: In a small village in France, Kyouya Ootori bids the important person in his life, one last farewell.


**A Long Walk to Farewell**

by Palatyne

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Ouran High School Host Club. The original manga story, characters and plot belong to Bisco Hatori, _Lala, _English editions to Viz Mediaand the anime to Bones, et.al.

**Author's Note: **There is a reason for the title, this story is a sad one.

* * *

It was late afternoon in a small village in the south of France. Not long ago a cold, sweeping breeze flew in – a warning perhaps, of a mistral soon to come. But for the moment there was calm in the streets and the people went on with the routines of a day's end.

The town's relative tranquility belied the fact that it was only a few miles from one of the region's economic centers. Business compelled him to travel to the country, but it was only as far as several major cities.

The heir to the Ootori fortune had no business being in this small, insignificant village.

Kyouya Ootori however, could not delay this visit for much longer. It was his first visit and most likely it would be his last.

The directions Haninozuka gave him were precise, despite being overly embellished with poetic descriptions of rolling hills, blue skies, medieval houses and so forth. He had ordered the car to stop just outside the town square and insisted to his aides that he would go on foot. They did not need to know where he was going.

He believed in patience, hard work and perseverance. He was prepared to get lost – and in any case, he had more than a functional fluency in French.

He did not believe in fate.

Yet there she was on the other side of the street, the only other foreigner in sight.

She was walking on the sidewalk bordering the cobbled streets that had probably been unchanged for centuries. She walked with such a familiar brisk stride that he felt an urge to remind her that she was no longer in the busy, crowded streets of their country.

Now that he was here, now that he had seen her it suddenly seemed enough.

Yet he did not come all this way for just a brief glimpse of her, no matter how much it comforted him, no matter how much joy it gave him – the mere sight of her, after so many long years.

_Haruhi._

Then as if she had heard him, her pace slowed and eventually she stopped.

He saw her eyes widen in shock as she saw him.

For the first time in ten years he looked at her face – at once so familiar, but so different.

She was older now, of course. Her features now softened by time.

But it was the same beautiful face.

He gave a slight nod in acknowledgement, waiting for her initial shock to subside.

But she was already running across the street towards him.

"Kyouya-sempai!" She cried happily.

Her look of genuine happiness moved him. He wanted to cry out to her as well, to take her into his arms in sheer joy.

But that was not his way.

Instead he smiled at her calmly, politely.

"Haruhi."

He saw her wide smile fade slightly at his words. Inwardly he cringed, he had never learned how to reciprocate warmth.

She soon recovered, and was now looking at him smilingly but with an eyebrow raised in suspicion. "I suppose now you're going to tell me you were just around the neighborhood?"

"I am here for business."

"Really?" She said mockingly. "Kaoru said the same thing, and he ended up staying a month."

"Our company has holdings here."

"Eh?" Haruhi exclaims, surprised but still slightly disbelieving.

He held back a smile.

"I came to see if an operation in this region would prove to be profitable."

"You had to come all the way here for that?"

"Of course."

"I imagine you have people who do these things for you."

He smiled then at her bluntness. She was just as perceptive as ever and he knew that he should have devised a more plausible excuse.

"I wanted to see the progress for myself…among other things."

"Oh." She seemed slightly embarrassed. "Well, I don't know about being profitable but this is a beautiful, peaceful town."

"So it seems."

Just then a cool gentle breeze once more swept from the rolling green hills and right across the streets. He watched as the wind threaded through her hair – her long brown tresses flying wildly even as she raised a hand to tame them.

"The wind can be a problem though." She said, smiling ruefully.

He smiled mildly in return. He had never seen her with hair that long before – it only reminded him of how much he had missed.

"Would you like to look around, sempai?" She offered amiably.

"Haruhi, I think we're both too old for you to still be calling me _sempai_." He said only half-jokingly.

He had only ever called him _sempai._ Even when she had dropped the honorific from everyone else's name, with him she never did.

"Eh?" She looked mildly surprised. "Gomen. I'm just so used to calling you _sempai_. You will always be a _sempai_ to me, no matter how old I get." She declared good-naturedly, innocently.

Yet it pierced him like a million knives to the heart.

"If it makes you comfortable to call me _sempai_ –"

"Hai. Hai. Kyouya-_san_, then." She finally said laughingly. "Would you like a tour of our little village?"

This was not how he had planned it to be. He was supposed to pay _her _a brief visit – a very brief visit.

He could not risk being with her for too long.

"I can't stay too long." He hesitated.

He saw her expression change ever so slightly. He saw a flicker of sadness in her eyes.

"But perhaps, a short walk would be fine."

He could never say no to those eyes.

So into the small town, amidst the sun's fading light they had a walk.

* * *

"Hunny-sempai and Mori-sempai paid us a visit last summer, then Kaoru just two months ago." She informed him, happily recalling the visit.

She had been constantly making conversation, telling him little details of her life. They walked along the sidewalk, pausing every now and then to look at some shops. She asked him questions about his life, his family – he told her little, for there was not much to tell.

After almost a decade of proving himself to his father, he had finally become the heir to the zaibatsu. It came at a heavy cost; his brothers barely spoke to him and when they did they treated him with the same cold, distant respectfulness that they gave their father. Even his sister had become distant.

His life now was the zaibatsu, there was nothing more.

It was her life he wanted to hear about. More than hearing her talk, he enjoyed simply watching her – the way her lips curved into a smile, the way her eyes danced in laughter as she told him funny stories. Even the way her hands moved from her hair, to her side or to her lips when she laughed.

And whenever she laughed it dazed him, for she laughed with such openness, with such pure joy that she glowed. She was laughing so much more than he had ever seen before. She seemed more confident, more outgoing. She led the conversation and urged him to speak whenever he lapsed into silence.

Yet every moment he spent with her tore at him – for he knew every moment with her, he would never have again.

Still, he maintained the façade of calm, mild interest.

"I heard about it." He replied, as her story of Haninozuka and Morinozuka's trip winded down.

"We've been having so many visitors, I think the neighbors are getting suspicious."

"If those fools arrived here in the style they are accustomed too, I don't doubt that."

She laughed then, a warm, hearty laugh.

"Oh they did! They came in by helicopter!"

"Fools." He muttered disdainfully, but he too was smiling.

She glanced at him apologetically. "But I'm afraid we're quite unprepared for your visit."

"I came here for business. It was unnecessary to inform you."

It was blunt, even harsh, he knew. But there was no other way for him to say it.

No other way without him revealing too much.

Yet she smiled, seemingly at ease even with his chilly demeanor.

"He'd be so disappointed if he heard that."

He knew _he _would come up in the conversation eventually.

He had been one of those who resented _his_ decision to leave for France and his decision to take one other person with him.

He had hated him then.

But at that time he too, had already distanced himself from the members of old Club – he had an empire to manage. His dream – already achieved – then needed his full attention. He could not do anything to stop him, or at least that was what he deluded himself into thinking.

Now he realized he had been weak while _he_ was strong – strong enough to fight for the one that really mattered_._

_Her. _

"He's still an idiot, then." He said evenly.

"Maybe." She laughed. "But he's adjusting perfectly to the commoner's life."

"I find that hard to believe."

He had already been told of this, by the others. They sang _his _praises.

Yet he needed to hear it from her.

"No, really, he is. At first it was difficult and he did all sorts of ridiculous things. But he's much better now, much better." She said almost defensively. It was not the first time someone questioned her about it, that he was certain of.

Suddenly she turned silent, her expression thoughtful. She gazed vaguely at the widening street ahead of them, and the bridge that was slowly coming into view.

They walked in silence. Occasionally she pointed at houses of people she knew. They kept on, until finally they reached the bridge.

"Here's the bridge. We're close." She declared happily.

It was an old stone bridge, only a few meters across. It spanned a small stream which flowed lazily below. On its other side he could see a row of medieval-style houses and beyond were more of the rising hills lined with dark green pine.

"Shall we?" She asked.

He nodded and the moved on.

There was only one other person on the bridge, a middle-aged lady going the opposite way. For a moment he did not pay her any attention, until the woman actually stopped to greet them.

He was about to greet back an impulse for politeness, but soon he heard a stammering voice address the woman.

"_B –bonjour_!"

He fought the impulse to correct her. She was massacring one of the most beautiful languages in the world. Yet he could only watch as she stumbled from one phrase to the next – supplementing her vocabulary with a profusion of hand gestures. It was like watching a game of charades.

The older lady however, didn't seem to mind and answered every inquiry with as few words as possible and in very simple sentences while waiting patiently for the other to formulate a response to each one.

At one point she tried to introduce him, pointing at him vigorously. He nodded at the older lady but otherwise remained silent. He did not want to insult her by handling the conversation.

She rattled on in broken sentences. She persevered, making up for it by her earnestness. Soon the older lady expressed her need to go somewhere.

"_D-donne le bonjour…de ma part…parte…à ta m-mère_!"

The older lady smiled benignly, obviously hiding her confusion, before bidding them both goodbye.

He heard her sigh in exhaustion, then turned to smile at him sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I tried to introduce you. I don't think she got that part."

He had heard the conversation and knew that the woman probably understood not half of what was said to her. But he admired her determination. He could not help but be amazed at the way she inspired kindness and friendship in everyone around her – even with those who could barely understand her.

"Your French is horrible." He said simply.

She laughed. "I know! I have a lousy tutor. He does not bother to point out my mistakes, he just keeps on praising me. Besides, they have a different dialect here. So it's just as difficult for them as it is for me!"

She laughed once more, before turning to look fondly at the woman who was now on the other side of the bridge.

"Madame Jeanjacquet lives right next door to us. I think she's half in-love with him herself. He is quite popular here."

"Maybe he should set up a hosting business here."

"I don't think he'd like that." She paused. "I don't think I will like that either."

Once more she looked thoughtful and he saw her look at a row of houses ahead of them. But before long she resumed her pace.

Abruptly he paused. She stopped a few steps away from him, casting him a surprised look.

He knew he could go no further. He knew what lay past the bridge.

He needed to ask her now.

"Are you content here?" He asked her, plainly, directly

She looked surprised, but there was no uncertainty in her voice, no hesitation.

"I am."

Then she looked away, towards the side of the bridge, towards the setting sun – as if she were looking at a faraway place.

"We had given up so much and I was not sure if things would work out at all. But things turned out much better than I expected."

It should've been explanation enough for him. It was enough for the others. They had not asked her too much.

But he could not stop. There was so much he wanted to ask, so many things he wanted to know.

"What about becoming a lawyer, did you give that up as well?"

"He gave up so much for me, its only right that I sacrifice something for him –"

Suddenly, without any warning, anger flared in him.

"He had no right to ask that of you."

For the first time since talked to her, she looked bewildered. She looked almost astonished – perhaps at his anger, or his question or the way their conversation suddenly changed.

But he was not deterred.

"You say he sacrificed so much, but what he really did was run away and leave everything behind."

She now looked almost pained.

He was hurting her.

"Not everything. He took me with him."

At her words he was filled with such a rage as he had never felt in a long, long time. All the walls he had carefully erected had suddenly, instantaneously crumbled.

Ten years' worth of unsaid words came flooding from deep within him.

"He dragged you along with him! He took you away from everything you know, from all who care about you! He took you away from everyone, he took you away from –"

_Me…_

He could not say it.

He never could.

He stopped, like so many times before in his life, he stopped before he could do anything more – before he could do anything that would change things, before he could do anything that would make a difference.

He stopped.

That had always been his way.

"Kyouya-san…"

Her voice was calm, full of kindness.

It was more than he could bear.

He did not deserve her kindness.

"Gommenasai." He said the words slowly, formally – hoping that the sound would release him, would set him free.

"Kyouya-san, you're right." She spoke quietly. "I miss everyone. I get homesick a lot. And even now I'm still a little unsure of this new life."

He wanted to tell her that she didn't have to explain. He wanted to tell her that he was just a fool – an angry, lonely, jealous fool.

"Haruhi…"

But she looked grave, her brows furrowed. "I don't want you to worry, Kyouya-san. I don't want any of you to worry about me. I have not given up my dreams. Nor has he ever asked me to. But if putting my dreams on hold is the price I have to pay to be with him…"

She looked at him with the same look of pure determination he had seen long ago, in a young girl who dressed like a boy, who dreamt of being a lawyer – a girl who knew him far better than he knew himself.

"I don't have any regrets, Kyouya-san."

He had his answer.

They stood there, in the cold stone bridge – a few paces from each other, but seemingly a whole world apart.

Perhaps it was a trick of the fading light or a perhaps his mind had finally given up the fight for sanity.

But as he stood there he saw not the long-haired woman standing before him.

In one brief moment he was in another place, another time – and in front of him was a girl of fifteen, her hair cropped short, her eyes wide and innocent.

"_Kyouya-sempai?"_

"Haruhi?"

Then it was gone.

It was long gone.

"Kyouya-san?"

He was back in the cold stone bridge, in a foreign town, in a foreign country.

And in front of him was the one person he had ever wanted – but now the one person he could never have.

There was nothing more for him.

"I need to go back now."

She did not protest. Instead, she smiled – a different smile from the ones before, a sad smile.

"Of course."

"You should ignore what I said earlier."

"I understand, Kyouya-san."

How much did she understand? How much did she know of the turmoil within? How much did she know of what it took for him to come here, to the one place he had vowed never to go to?

He looked away.

Then he saw it, the house that had been described to him several times – by Kaoru, Mori, Hunny and even Hikaru.

It was exactly as they had described, a fantastical cottage set amidst the other buildings and houses of the neighborhood. It was as charming as it was strange.

It was very, very strange, out-of-place, almost bizarre.

She realized what he was looking at.

"I know what you're thinking. He designed it" She spoke laughingly, "But it's home."

He sighed.

"That idiot…I hope he knows just how lucky he is." He said almost unthinkingly.

"I doubt that." She smiled, her eyes turned to the cottage.

He watched her as she gazed lovingly at the home she shared with the man she loved.

It was time for him to leave.

"Haruhi, if you have no regrets, then I wish you all the best." He tried his best to keep his voice even, but somehow his voice sounded heavy, burdened with all the things he tried to keep from her.

"Arigatou." She spoke sincerely but uncertainly. She was looking at him curiously, as if she were seeing him differently.

He had revealed too much of himself - too much, yet too little.

A part of him screamed for him to tell her everything. The part of him which clung desperately to a last spark of hope cried out in pain and longing.

Yet the greater part, the part which always won, held him back.

He held back, just as before, just as always.

Soon there was only silence and a quite, calm acceptance.

He smiled at her.

"And I wish you all the luck with that idiot you have for a husband." He added, unable to resist one last taunt.

She smiled then, the warm, earnest smile that was uniquely hers. A smile which he knew he would never see again.

He could try, at least try, one last time.

"As for regrets…" He paused to gaze into her eyes, willing her to see, willing her to hear what he could never say out loud.

"I have only one."

She looked at him questioningly, her expression startled and confused.

But he knew then that he would never tell her. The time for telling had come and gone.

It was too late.

Fleetingly, Kyouya Ootori gazed one last time into the warm brown eyes he knew would haunt him for as long as he lived.

Then wordlessly, he turned and walked away.

He was done with his farewell.

-fin-


End file.
